Part journal, part nonsense, part sublime inspiration, wholly Faith-ful

That’s Just the Way It Is

Oh gosh–I hate it when he does his Dr. Evil impression. “So you don’t believe me.”

“No, not so much.”

“Well, then I don’t think we really have much else to talk about, do we?” I’m going to smack thim in a minute, if he doesn’t shut up!

“You mean, let’s just agree to disagree?” He raised one eyebrow and looked down his nose at me.

“No. I mean you’re a jerk! You’re calling her a liar, you’re calling me a liar, and you think you’re so perfect and you think you know everything but you don’t!” I grabbed my keys, shoved my feet back into my shoes, and picked up my purse. “I’m leaving.”

He blocked my way. “No. Don’t go.”

“Get out of my way!” I tried to force my way past him, but he wouldn’t let me go.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry!”

“Yes, I am. I know you love her. I just don’t understand why.”

“Because she’s my sister! Do you stop loving people when they hurt you, when they let you down? No! You don’t. And neither do I!”

“But I saw a long time ago what she was like. I knew then that she was going to turn out bad. And you didn’t listen to me. If you’d listened to me–”

“It’s too late for that, isn’t it? And besides, she’s my sister. I was not going to turn my back on her. I couldn’t. I had to believe that she could change, even though I knew it probably wouldn’t happen. I hoped she would change. I hoped that moving out here, getting away from her old associations, leaving her baggage behind would help her. I can’t change it, and I wouldn’t do something different even if I could. Now get out of my way!”

He still didn’t move.

I saw the skepticism in his eyes, and it made me even madder. “I know you don’t believe in all my social work baloney, but you’re wrong. Her mother was a drug addicted whore. She was a crack baby. She was moved around arbitrarily from one person to another until Mom and T adopted her when she was 5 or 6. That would mess any kid up! And I think she was sexually molested.”

He rolled his eyes. “You think everyone’s been sexually molested.”

“No I don’t, but I know that it happens a hell of a lot more often than you think. And I have good reason to think she was. The point is, what happens to a child drastically impacts the adult he or she becomes.”

“But she knew right from wrong.”

“Yes, she did, and she thought she was born wrong and couldn’t ever be fixed. She thought she was a bad person no matter what. She thought there was nothing she could do to really change. She saw all the disapproval from the people who should have tried to lift her up, and she did her best to satisfy them and herself in the belief that she was bad. But she wasn’t!”

“You know what she did.”

“I know what people believe she did. I know what she has told me. And yes, I know that 98% of what came out of her mouth was nothing but lies. But no one knows what really happened. Only she does. And I’d rather give her the benefit of the doubt. I love her! She’s my sister. She always will be, and I’m not giving up on her now!” I sank down onto the bed, exhausted. “We’ve had this exact same conversation a hundred times since she died. I’m through with it. I don’t want to talk about her with you. You don’t get it, and you don’t get me. I’m tired of feeling guilty for loving my sister.”

“I loved her too!”

“I know you did. But you’ve got to forgive her, and let yourself love her again.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Okay?”

He paused for a moment, and then said, “Okay.”

******
This is a fictionalized account of the discussions my husband and I have had since A. died in January. He doesn’t imitate Dr. Evil–thank heavens! We talk about this a lot less often than we used to. Perhaps we have just agreed to disagree. I don’t care. She’s my sister. I hate what she did to herself, but I will never stop loving her.

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"You can get sympathy or you can get better, but you can't get both. You can be in your comfort zone or you can have growth, but you can't have both. You can be interested or you can be sold-out committed, but you can't entertain both. You can have excuses or have results, but you can't do both. Choose the path that develops your visceral fortitude." ---Mario Cortes

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